


Alignment

by prairiecrow



Series: Alignment (The Mob AU) [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Assassins & Hitmen, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Human Jarvis (Iron Man movies), M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was funny, Steve Rogers mused — the way things sometimes worked out. The way seemingly unrelated elements, or even elements that should have repelled each other with like oil and water, could move into alignment and click together with magnetic intensity, fitting so seamlessly that you couldn't find any space between them, or even want to contemplate the circumstances that could wrench them apart again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alignment

**Author's Note:**

> Rupert Friend as Jarvis. That is all.
> 
> https://kinoimages.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/rupert-friend-by-sc3b8lve-sundsbc3b8-4.jpg

It was funny, Steve Rogers mused — the way things sometimes worked out. The way seemingly unrelated elements, or even elements that should have repelled each other with like oil and water, could move into alignment and click together with magnetic intensity, fitting so seamlessly that you couldn't find any space between them, or even want to contemplate the circumstances that could wrench them apart again.

Take the three men in this room right how — Steve relaxing in a luxurious leather armchair near the floor-to ceiling windows overlooking the nighttime dazzle of New York City in spring, Tony Stark behind his massive desk of exquisitely carved mahogany, and the one who had just entered Tony's penthouse office on elegantly shod feet nearly soundless on the thick rich carpet. In spite of the business they were all in, Steve Rogers in person was as warm as summer sunlight, and Tony Stark burned with his own intensity, dark and spectacular as a full eclipse.

But Jarvis… Well, Jarvis (it never crossed Steve's mind anymore to refer to the hitman by his first name) was a very special case. Jarvis was no creature of heat, any more than a serpent would be: rather, he was a cold steel blade precision crafted for his work. Steve had no idea what Jarvis's past was (aside from a few instinct-driven suspicions that might or might not pan out), and based on the few ominous hints Tony had dropped from time to time, he was pretty sure that he didn't _want_ to know. All that mattered to Jarvis, all that had mattered for the past eight years, was the task of ensuring Tony Stark's safety, Tony's comfort, Tony's well-being — and recently, only within the past nine months, that had come to mean ensuring Steve'e safety and comfort and well-being as well.

Tony, who had been going over the latest drug-running account summaries when Jarvis entered, looked up with a borderline scowl that immediately turned into a smirk. "Give me the good word, J."

The ebony steel briefcase that Jarvis carried in his left hand (itself sheathed in skin-tight black leather) was immaculate, perfectly clean and scrupulously polished, as were all of Jarvis's possessions. Nevertheless, there was an aura of blood and death about it, as if those qualities had seeped through from the expensive sniper equipment concealed inside. "In future, Mr. Dugami will not be expressing any further opposition to your proposal for expansion into the Tokyo market."

A tiny chill traced a liquid path up Steve's spine, from the tip all the way to his nape, prickling the tiny blond hairs there erect. Jarvis's low cultured voice, calm and slightly husky, gave no outward hint that the unfortunate Mr. Dugami would be so compliant "in future" because Jarvis had recently put a high-powered bullet through him — most likely into the brain, since Jarvis favoured the headshot for a quick unequivocal kill. As for Jarvis himself… well, the gun Jarvis carried and Jarvis's body bore certain similarities: both were slim, both were sculpted (Jarvis had cheekbones you could cut window glass with), both tended toward darker hues (witness Jarvis's black camelhair coat, business casual attire of darkest blue, and short slicked-back hair that gleamed like a raven's wing), and both were as beautiful as they were deadly.

The gleam in Tony's eyes consisted as much of lecherous appreciation as it did of satisfaction in Jarvis's report of a job well done. "That's my boy," he praised warmly, rising from his chair and coming round the side of his desk, his own charcoal grey business suit as perfectly tailored as it was outrageously expensive. His burgundy tie echoed the tint of his sinful lips, framed by a sartorial beard and moustache that quirked with his wider smile as he opened his arms —

— and Jarvis went to him at once, stepping into his embrace as neatly as a sniper rifle fitting into the case built to house its component parts. He bent his head even before Tony's left hand curved around the back of his neck to pull him down the couple of inches that separated their lips —

— and then they were kissing, slow and ravenous, and once again, for the hundredth time (or was it the thousandth?), Steve was lost in the sight of it. The chill was banished, replaced by a warm flush of blood into his fingertips, his lips… and parts a little further south. That heat only increased when both Tony's hands slid down Jarvis's slender back to cup his buttocks through the elegant coat and squeeze them warmly, massaging them with such wholehearted appreciation, such shameless lust, that the pulse of Steve's own arousal surged through him, momentarily blinding.

Het-up though he was, he could still see with perfect clarity the affection in Tony's gaze when he broke the hungry seal of their mouths to gaze up into Jarvis's half-hooded eyes of slate grey. "Daddy's proud of you, baby," he purred — squeeze, rub, squeeze. "Such a _good_ boy. I'll bet you need a shower after all that hard work, huh?"

Jarvis's gaze, which had been wholly focussed on his master's face, shifted sidelong to take in Steve as well. "Perhaps the Captain is feeling somewhat… dirty, as well."

"Uh," Steve said, because damn — after all this time, the combination of Tony's passionate fire and Jarvis's calculating ice was still capable of leaving him speechless. "I mean — yeah, sure. You bet!"

There was a time when Steve would have missed the subtle ironic pleasure that quirked Jarvis's left eyebrow upwards a fraction of an inch. Tony, less subtle by far, laughed with outright mischievous delight. "You sure you're up to the challenge, Cap? We wouldn't want to get scuff-marks all over that legendary innocence of yours!"

"I'll show you scuff-marks," Steve said with a barely contained growl of his own. He was out of the chair and across the floor in less than a second, and the expression on Tony's face when he took firm hold of them both to manhandle them in the direction of the bedroom made the whole day _totally_ worthwhile.

THE END


End file.
